What happens when good doesn't exist

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
The world has gone backwards, good no longer exists, the only way of life is kill or be killed, amidst the chaos one girl is trying to survive without doing any harm, can she resist the urge to kill?

Submitted: November 17, 2011

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Submitted: November 17, 2011

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“Coming up on the six o’ clock news, a plane goes down over Melbourne crashing into the Flinders Street Station, the death toll is expected to reach into the hundreds.” The television showed the Flinders Street Station with a huge Quantas plane sticking out of the side, flames licked the sides of the building and engulfed the tail of the plane.

People rushed around the hot dog and ice cream carts just outside the building before the fire consumed them. I’m sure within seconds I will be able to smell smoke from my backyard if the wind picks up.

Paul sits in his armchair fully reclined back, his enormous stomach pointing to the roof, potato chips are spilled all over the front of his shirt along with an assortment of crumbs foreign to me. Paul is really my father, but in this world, its much easier to avoid getting close to anyone.

For example last week a woman with a gun broke into our house and killed Ashlee, my mother. I’m amazed that I have survived to my fifteenth birthday.

But the world hasn’t always been like this, a couple of years ago crime reached an all time high. That’s when people decided they wouldn’t bother being good anymore, what’s the use of rebuilding your life every time someone robs you or kills someone you love, so instead, people just decided to get even. From then on we have been moving from city to city trying to find a place that wasn’t destroyed just so we could have somewhere nice to sleep, every now and then Paul will go out and kill a few people with his lucky crowbar just to let out some anger, then for the next few days we hide preferably somewhere with a television and an armchair. Right now we are staying in a strangers house, their whereabouts unknown and presumed dead. Or turned savage like ninety five percent of the population of Australia.

Everyday I watch in horror. I have a kitchen knife permanently attached to my hand, but I doubt I’ll use it even as a last resort. I’d rather be dead then watch the world collapse around me.

I’m sitting at a dining room table just waiting for someone to come and try and take a shot at us. Suddenly something wet drops onto my knee, I look down, its red. I think it’s safe to say we don’t have to worry about the previous owners coming to claim their house back.

Movement outside the window catches my attention, a man with a knife similar to mine is sneaking up to the front door. I take a deep breath, I try and accept that its my time to die, but I just can’t.

“Paul, Paul!” I whisper. The only response I get is a snore. Oh great, the ogre has fallen into his annual 2pm nap. The man punches though the glass, creating an open wound which is dripping blood all over the carpet.

“Ouch.” He mutters shaking his hand making the blood drop everywhere.

I run forward and pry Paul’s lucky crowbar out of his grubby hands, then brace myself in a fighting stance. He finally opens the door then he sees me.

“Ha ha ha!” he chuckles, then bends over crying with laughter.

“Do you find something amusing?” I ask still posed ready for battle.

“I just think it’s funny that midget, really thinks they can take me on!” He doubles over in laughter again.

“Hey, I am tall for my age!” I yell.

“I don’t care about that I just want you to know, you are definitely not going to win!” he represses a smile and tries to be serious.

“You’re a bit cocky.” I raise my eyebrow.

That’s when his face turns red, his lips curl back and I half expect him to grow fangs. He springs forward, I jump out of the way, he misses me and keeps running out of his control, tripping his way into the kitchen, I kick his back and his head goes through the oven. Glass smashes everywhere.

He doesn’t move, a trail of blood works its way across the tiled floor.

I stare at his corpse shocked, but the shock is outweighed by adrenaline.

“That… was…. Awesome!” I say to myself.

I look at the crowbar in my hand, then hold it tightly. I run out the door, still on an adrenaline high. I run out onto the street and immediately there are about five people fighting, some with guns and some with knives. I walk up behind a woman who seems to be winning in the fight, and I smack her over the head with the crowbar. My excitement is elated, and I look around for my next target.

“Crack.” Something sharp hits me, over the head, I can feel my skull splinting, blood runs down my neck and down the back of my shirt. Dizziness overcomes me and I collapse. “That was my wife you just killed little brat!” a mans voice yells at me. I was hit over the head again, this times everything goes dark……..


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